About Time
by JadedofMara
Summary: Have you ever wondered why the Doctor is so obsessed with a level 5 planet on the outskirts of the Milky Way? Or why his hearts were captured by a 19 year old human shopgirl in the year 2005? The answers are within. The Ultimate FixIt!fic
1. Prologue

**Authors Note:** Welcome, welcome, one and all to About Time, my lovely little Dr Who fic. Well, I say little... More like an epic actually, of Grecian proportions. This little baby's been swimming around my head for three years, and it's got 60 chapters planned out... so far! Unfortunately, what with Real Life being a bitch and all (I'm allowed to swear, it's rated T) and that annoying little thing called College getting in the way, inspiration, writing, and therefore, updates are going to be a bit slow. Stupid College. Who needs a future anyhow? Just kidding. But I digress. Enjoy the ficlet, dears. This, remember is just the Prologue. Much more to come! I do hope you enjoy my use of extremely extended metaphor; remember it! It's going to come up again in the epilogue!... (if we ever get that far...) But for now please sit back, relax and enjoy your first taste of a little story that is about time. Of course, it's about time for me to shut up and let you get to reading, too, isn't it? That's why I love my title. And yes, it it supposed to be taken both ways. Quite neat, isn't it? I hope you like the story just as much. But I'll shut up now, and let you decide for yourself. If any of you read this entire thing, I will be very impressed. Goodness knows I never do.

Ta,

~Jaded

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><p>About Time<br>A Doctor Who Epic  
>By JadedofMara<p>

Prologue: Vessel

His mind was brittle. Any stress, any strain of any kind was enough to shatter what was left and send it crumbling down to dust and rubble and silt.

But he was still strong. He could still wet the dust, moisten the silt and piece the rubble back together before anyone realized they were standing in the remains of his sanity.

The Archeologist got the closest. She, by profession accustomed to constructing whole lives and cultures and extinct civilizations from shards of ancient pottery, knew the empty vessel of his mind, could see the broken pieces as they fell, only to be snatched up again before they shattered on the ground.

He never allowed her enough time to study them, to make a thorough examination of what had once been his very soul. He never allowed them to go to dust any longer either; each piece as it fell, broken and worthless, from him hastily stuffed into deep, bigger-on-the-inside pockets of facts and figures, of aliens and history, of space and time.

It was this that had changed with his regeneration. Before, newly emptied, it's clay still moist and pliant with memory, pain and shadow, it had taken far greater force to break the vessel. Lesser strains could not crack its exterior; the vessel still molded to adversity with something similar to its old resilience. But he had not yet the ability to catch the pieces as the vessel finally shattered, falling into innumerable, unidentifiable particles by the fact, the simple, irrefutable fact, that _one of them had survived. _

He wet the clay, reformed the shattered vessel. It never was the same.

It had just taken final shape, when it once again fractured, this time blown to smithereens by the survival of millions upon millions of billions. By the possibility of the loss of the one drop, the first drop of moisture the vessel had felt since it had entirely emptied in one, horrible, traumatic instant. The one drop that had only so recently grown to two, the second of which had already evaporated under the glare of an extermination beam.

But the unthinkable happened. That small, insignificant drop of moisture turned and in one moment drowned out the Dalek fires. In one moment, condensed the other drop from thin air, never to evaporate again. In one moment, expanded so greatly that it wet the clay, reformed his mind, and filled the entire vessel.

In one moment, he was almost whole again.

In the next, the drop, that wonderful drop, threatened to drown within itself, and he burnt it all away with the fires of regeneration. The drop which had filled him up completely was only a drop again. The vessel hardened in the kiln.

Now, it could not bend, could not stretch to adversity. But now he could, at least, catch the pieces as they fell.

And fall they did. They fell when the Cat-Nuns bred sentient creatures, his own beloved Humans, for experimentation. They fell when he found a drop of scalding hot English breakfast tea, wonderfully, beautifully alive in that dank primary school basement, the way his people were not. They fell each and every time the drop, his brilliant drop of rosewater, threatened to slip away from him.

Each and every time they fell. And each and every time, the rosewater reformed him.

Then came the day that the rosewater drop finally slipped away completely. It was still there, that he knew. It had not evaporated. But he knew with equal certainty that it would never moisten the clay of his mind, the pieces of his soul, the vessel of his hearts, again.

The pieces had fallen. The seething deluge of the Thames, pouring relentlessly down on his head, had threatened to sweep the dust far, irretrievably far away from him.

A sour, steaming drop of burnt workplace coffee seared through the torrent and saved his reason. It hadn't stayed with him; she would seek out adventure, no longer trapped, percolating her life away.

That was all well and good. He would do the same, and when his magnificent ship detected signs of alien activity in a London hospital, he checked himself in; he didn't tell them that the 'stomach cramps' were just the aches of an empty vessel that cracked as it dried.

It didn't dry completely, of course. Hope, wet and wonderful, always managed to find its way into his dry, hollow soul. An intravenous line dripped saline and saved his life. He thanked her with a trip, a trip for a life.

She thought he was stringing her along, one more trip, one more trip, one more trip. She put her foot down eventually, demanding to be allowed to stay. He acquiesced, verbally. In truth, the pair of them never got beyond a trip for a life.

From exsanguination and asphyxiation in a hospital on the moon, via bi-cardiopulmonary resuscitation. From DNA replication module-induced uni-cardiac arrest in the fourteenth century, by way of percussive restart. From self-delusion in the Undercity of New New York, New Earth, by giving him someone to talk to. From self-induced extermination by looking horrified at the prospect of his death. From death by electrocution atop the incomplete Empire State Building by rerouting part of the gamma strike and coming to find him. From a mutated madman by becoming bait. From immolation by a living sun by needing him to get her home. From being consumed by the Family by being strong, keeping him locked away when she felt she needed him most. From starvation and homelessness in 1969 by braving the prejudices of the time to work in a shop.

Every trip she saved his life. And for every life he gave her a trip.

Then one day, in between trips, on a simple pit-stop, as she put it, a drop of poison fell into his vessel as a man latched on to his magnificent ship. She flew them 100 trillion years of her own accord, but still the poison remained.

A glittering, crystalline drop of cyanide, toxic to him, but not deadly, wrong, but tolerable, and utterly incapable of evaporating. He mourned the spiced ale drop that had become the cyanide, and withstood its effects out of respect for what it once was, before his wonderful rosewater had recondensed it out of Dalek-created vapor.

The presence of the cyanide was nice, he decided. Its very existence was tangible proof that his rosewater had once existed. The saline tended to cleanse him a little too well, and he was starting to forget.

He did not ever want to forget.

But he did, all too soon, for a moment. The saline spoke of a watch, similar to his own, a bigger-on-the-inside vial in which to hide the large vessel of his consciousness, and the consciousness of those like him. He felt it smash, and for the first time in Rassilon only knew how many years, the vessel filled to the brim with a terrifyingly familiar liquid that could stay forever.

He _relished _it.

It didn't matter to him that the liquid mercury filling his mind would drive him mad, bring him just as much pain and torment as it had so many times in the past, and visit that same torture down on the saline and cyanide. It didn't matter to him that the mercury threatened to destroy his favorite planet, a planet that was almost sacred to him, for all its memories of the rosewater and English breakfast tea and Parisian perfume of his greatest friends, and of the sweet rich cream that had been his wife so, so long ago. It didn't even matter to him that the mercury was partially responsible for ensuring that he only had memories of thick, fragrant cream to sustain him.

He was filled. He was no longer hollow.

It was _wonderful._

He had, of course, resisted, fought back, saved his precious Earth and all its exquisitely painful memories from destruction, undone all the damage the mercury had wrought. It had always been this way with them, and so, he had suspected, it always would be.

He had not counted on the mercury vaporizing in the heat of burning gunpowder from a silly little handgun fired by a silly little woman, in the blaze of his eyes in a cold, flat refusal of his pleas to just regenerate, please regenerate, it's only a bullet, _regenerate, REGENERATE, DAMN YOU_!

Empty again, this time so much more empty than he had been before.

The cyanide understood a little, having lived now but a quarter of what he had, but gazing ahead, terrified of the same, horrific curse. But the cyanide had his own responsibilities now, and good on him for it, he would not forsake them.

The saline thought him utterly mad. How could he mourn that mercury? How could he grieve so, _so_ deeply that it tore open the vessel and smashed it into a thousand million pieces too quickly for him to catch, over that which had nearly been his destruction? She didn't understand, and never could, stupid ape, silly, wonderfully ignorant, naïve little human.

He equally despised and loved her for their misunderstanding. Loved her because she thought she could help him, and tried her hardest to do so. And despised her because, failing that, she left him, utterly alone, trying to fit his dry, fractured soul back together.

Luckily for him, for he was nothing if not lucky, the coffee came back. Still scorching hot, but tempered with wonder of the world around her, she still wanted to seek adventure, but alongside him now. She wet the clay, and the pieces went together a little easier...

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><p>You know the drill, my dears... R &amp; R! No idea when the next darling chappy will be up. RL is a bitch and I bow to my muses entirely for this story. When the inspiration strikes, I write. No forcing the timeline.<p>

Good things come to those who wait,

~Jaded


	2. Book One: Part One: Interlude

**Authors Note:** Fáilte! You lucky little things! I honestly thought I wouldn't have another darling chappy up for a month at least! But here it is, the first of the 'pre-part' interludes. These little sections of information are important to, but unnecessary for, understanding the story. They are also entirely not temporally linear! YAY! Also, I have discovered something about myself: I enjoy writing the Master FAR too much. Far, far too much. I wonder what that means about me as a human being? Maybe I should get a Whovian psychiatrist to figure it out for me... Anywho, its great news for you folks, cuz it means you get this chappy faster! YAY CHAPPY! Oh yeah, in case you didn't know, Koschei is the Master's nickname during his Original Form. Theta Sigma (the name of Part One :D ) and it's short form, Theta, is the nickname of the Doctor. And Rosal (pronounced row-SALL, with a soft 's' like 'sigh' and 'all' as in 'hall'... or 'all...) is the nickname of a semi-original character. I can't tell you any more than that, or it would give away a MAJOR plot twist! But you're allowed to know that she is the Doctor's wife. And now you're going 'what? What? WHAT?' in a very Ten-esque way. Heheheheheheh... Just read it, yeah?

Ta,

~Jaded

* * *

><p>About Time<br>A Doctor Who Epic  
>By JadedofMara<p>

**Book One: Killing Time**

Part One: Theta Sigma

**Interlude**

_I'd like to see a butterfly fit into a chrysalis case after it spreads its wings. ~ the Doctor_

The window by his bed always let in just uncomfortably enough of the first, scarlet sun's light to wake him up. He blinked, dazedly at first, his eyes open in the thin, red glare filtering through his thin, red curtains. He pushed himself up on an elbow, the psyclimate systems bringing up the artificial lights with half a thought, and set about his morning.

He had just finished fastening his long, red and gold Academic's robes and securing the familiar skullcap over his long greying hair when he felt it.

Koschei froze.

There was a presence in his mind he hadn't felt since that horrible, _horrible _day when Rosal… had…

A grey film danced around the edges of his vision. He felt ill, as he always did when he thought of that day. Of her.

Of him.

A deep, shuddering breath sucked in through his skin, Koschei's respiratory bypass kicking in before the paralysis seizing his diaphragm pushed him over the brink into unconsciousness. The influx of oxygen to the electron transport chains of his metabolic pathways reinstituted aerobic respiration and an influx of adenosine triphosphate to the suddenly overactive synapses of the psycenters in Koschei's brain. Four tiny neurons made four rapid connections.

This presence he'd last felt on the day one hundred and three years ago that Rosal, Time Lady and former Home World Biology lab partner, had, in the absence of their usual subjects, lost a three-way game of _contact_ and personally tested the latest improvement on their shared research endeavor, a device that would allow Time Lords to bypass bioscanners and appear to belong to a different species.

This presence he'd last felt on the day one hundred and three years ago that their research, a device they'd jokingly named the 'Chameleon Arch', had, instead of performing a simple external genetic transfer as it was intended to, totally rewritten Rosal's entire genetic sequence, inducing in the process a full regeneration out of Rosal's young, 571 year old Original Form, reducing her new, Second Form to that of a babe in arms, and ultimately removing her ability to regenerate further as her tri-helical DNA transformed into the double helix of the _Homo_ _sapiens_.

This presence he'd last felt on the day one hundred and three years ago that Rosal's lifeless, infant Second Form had been sent off in a Funeral Capsule, as was traditional, its universal and temporal coordinate's set confidentially by her Bonded partner for life.

This presence he'd last felt on the day one hundred and three years ago that Rosal's Bonded partner, bearing the blame of their grown children for Rosal's death, had stolen a Type-40 Capsule and fled with his youngest daughter in tow.

This presence belonged to _Theta._

Koschei jumped into action, the realization singing through his veins, and rushed out of his apartment. He fled the resident researcher's quarters in the central roundel of the Academy, reaching the bank of communal dematerialization pods on the outskirts of the campus in near record time. Associates, colleagues and the occasional Graduate student greeted him with a delicate telepathic brush of his mind; they respectfully bowed out of his way as soon as they registered the turmoil roiling within him at the moment. Most of them had been colleagues of Rosal's and Theta's too, before her death and his exile, and a few had even joined in the psychic sharing of grief at her passing; they understood only too well what Koschei was experiencing. The majority of the students he met in the halls merely stepped aside, respectfully in awe of the scientist barreling down the corridors past them.

Having arrived at the dematerialization pods, Koschei wasted no time in kicking an amorous pair of fourth decade panxenolinguistics students out of their pod and setting it to appear in the Academy's rematerialization bay deep within the Citadel. The moment the instantaneous trip was over, Koschei was out of the pod and running.

Koschei flew down the wide corridors, indiscriminately brushing every mind he could, seeking out that brilliant, precious presence that he had so longed to feel again for over two centuries. Statesmen, scientists, businessmen, and the regular, run-of-the-mill Time Lords and Ladies that made up the collective denizens of the Citadel gave him strange glances, their whispers chasing him down the halls. Koschei's mental presence was so far beyond himself, searching out every mind within reach, that when it finally brushed up against that which he sought, he was not even in the same sector as Theta.

But now he knew where to look. Koschei was off. He ran full out now, knocking the odd Time Lord out of the way, his long red and gold robes tangling in his legs, dark hair escaping the tight skullcap. Koschei could see Theta in his mind's eye, his wispy blond hair clinging to his neck, blue eyes shining in the light of Gallifrey's double suns, looking long and elegant in tall white physician's robes. Koschei could feel the presence coming, closer and closer until he was almost atop of it.

All at once, Koschei came to a halt.

Ahead of him, down a glass paneled causeway, two High Council members, their crests of station rising high above their heads, flanked a short little man with thick dark hair in checkered pants and an outrageously fluffy brown coat, a wooden musical pipe hanging out of one pocket. The Council members listened intently to the strange little man, dressed so incongruously for Gallifrey. As had been so often done for him this day, Koschei stepped respectfully to the side, allowing the two Council members and the strange little man to pass.

The little man and Koschei locked eyes, and this time, not even Koschei's respiratory bypass could help his poor brain.

Thick dark hair laid flat on the smooth forehead, brushing thick dark eyebrows, furrowed over deep, dark eyes, so brown they matched the color of the suns-set. A thin smile tugged at one corner of that thin-lipped mouth, and the thick, expressive eyebrows twitched into a split-second expression of _something._ A twang tugged in Koschei's mind.

By the time that Koschei finally came to, the two Council members and the strange little man had already gone and were nowhere to be seen. Theta's glorious presence was gone with them.

Everything become excruciatingly clear to Koschei. His respiratory bypass sucked in another of those deep, shuddery breaths through his skin.

Theta had regenerated.

Never again would Theta's thin blond hair whip in the updrafts of wind on Mount Perdition. Never again would Koschei's grey-green eyes meet Theta's crystalline blue ones, both pairs reflecting the scarlet grass splayed out beneath their feet. Black had replaced blond and brown, blue.

They were still the same age, that Koschei knew. He could feel the fact of it, buzzing away at the back of his mind, suddenly updated along with every other thing he knew about Theta. But at 672, Koschei's Original Form was barely middle aged. Theta's Second Form was already well worn in.

With his Second Form, Theta would have earned his title as a Lord of Time officially. He surreally wondered what his best friend in the multiverse was called.

_Theta! _His mind screamed, suddenly filled with the _need_ to know, scrabbling at the last vestiges of that glorious presence.

_Doctor, _a strange-familiar voice corrected, answering the unspoken question.

Doctor. The Doctor. The Pre-Interstellar-Expansion era Human English term for a practitioner of medicine or a particularly learned scholar. My Lord Doctor. A fitting title for a physician.

_Doctor! _He screamed, obediently.

The Doctor's strong, calm presence brushed up against Koschei's gently.

_See you again eventually, Koschei, _the Doctor said, a small, sad smile riding on the thought.

And with that, he was gone.

Koschei continued down the glass paneled causeway.

Unnoticed, one tear slid down his face.

_Theta._

The Doctor.

Koschei mourned.

* * *

><p>You know the drill, my dears... R &amp; R! No idea when the next darling chappy will be up.<p>

Good things come to those who wait,

~Jaded


	3. Book One: Part One: Chapter One

**Author's Note: **Velkommen! While I am always very sorry for the ridiculous amount of time between chapters, this is a good example of how drawn out this story is going to be. As I've said before, no forcing this one. I write only when inspiration strikes, and my muse tends to be tetchy, and summer kinda ran away from me. So yeah! On with the other technicalities. 1) Here we embark on some loverly Gallifreyan backstory for our favorite little Time Tots, Theta and Koschei and Rosal (even though you don't know her as well as I do yet. you will, though, I promise) 2) The term 'terza', a Gallifreyan endearment meaning literally 'my third heart'-about on par with 'darling' or 'my own'-is the creation of **Weimlady**, lovingly ripped off for my use, because it is just so sweet. I've not gotten around to asking her permission for it yet, but I will do at one point. (if you've not read her Sarah Jane/10 series, you have missed out on a wonder of the Whofic Pantheon) 3) If I owned Doctor Who or the BBC, this would not be in prose, but in screenplay. And finally, for my complete and utter Whovian readers, 4) During Theta's encounter with the title object of this chapter, there are lines from the television series. The first reader to correctly identify each phrase and match it with the Doctor who said it/episode it was in gets a virtual Captain Jack to hug and love, delivered directly to your home by trained delivery Daleks who will dance and chant 'Peace! And! Love!' for your enjoyment. Be warned, they will ask for cuddles. (if you did not get that reference, where have you been all your life, and look up the Peace and Love Kit-Kat commercial on YouTube at once.) Enough of my prattling. Do tell me what you think!

Ta,

~Jaded**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>About Time<br>A Doctor Who Epic  
>By JadedofMara<p>

**Book One: Killing Time**

Part One: Theta Sigma

**Chapter One: The Untempered Schism**

_Time is like the wind; it lifts the light and leaves the heavy. ~Doménico Cieri Estrada_

His feet shuffled a little on the carpet as he moved through the darkness. He could see fire flickering in the living room, could see the silhouettes of his parents where they sat together, watching the flames. He bit his lips together.

"Mama? Will you tell me a story?"

The dark shapes against the dancing yellow light turned.

"Theta, you should be in bed," one of them said.

Theta sighed. "I know, Papa, but I'm not tired. I can't sleep."

The two dark shapes looked at each other for a moment. His Mama spoke.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow, Theta?"

Theta nodded, biting his lips again, eyebrows squeezing together. "Yes."

"Oh, Theta…" sighed Mama. "You'll do just fine! We know you will!"

"Go on, Theta," said Papa. "Go back to bed, son. Only little Time Tots who stay asleep when they're supposed to become Time Lords."

Theta's face contorted with worry.

"Kastianar, he doesn't need that," said Mama sharply. "It's tomorrow, for Rassilon's sake!"

"Eta, we mustn't coddle the boy," Papa replied. "Tomorrow, he'll be a Novice—" Theta shuddered "—and after that, he'll have to grow up very fast. He's not a Time Tot anymore."

"You just called him one, my darling idiot," Mama laughed. "And as long as you continue to call him a Time Tot, I'll continue to coddle him. In fact, I don't care if he's eight, a hundred and eight or a thousand and eight; he'll always be my little Time Tot, so I'll coddle him all I want. Understand?"

Papa grumbled a bit. Theta fidgeted.

"I just need a story, I swear!" he cried suddenly. "Then I'll be able to sleep! Please tell me a story, I really want to stay asleep; I wanna do good tomorrow, I wanna be a Time Lord! I just… I'm so nervous. Please?"

His Mama sighed again. "Alright, Theta, terza," she said, standing. "Let's get you to bed."

* * *

><p>There once was a little boy who was called Theta Sigma. Theta was a very happy little boy. He liked climbing trees and swimming and running in the grass. He especially liked reading books and hearing stories, sometimes with his Mama and Papa, but most often when he was supposed to be asleep.<p>

Theta's Mama and Papa thought that Theta was the very best little boy in the whole universe. He was their terza, their third heart. They thought he was special in every single way. And he was, really!

Because Theta was going to grow up to be the very best Time Lord there ever was. Maybe he would be an Archivist like his Mama, and know every single thing that had ever happened on Gallifrey. Or maybe he would be a Recorder, and visit strange, alien worlds, just to see what they were like. Or maybe he would become a Lord High Councilor, like his Papa. But no matter what he did, he was going to have all kinds of adventures with his friends, go all sorts of places, and see so many different things.

But before little Theta could do any of that, he had to grow up, big and strong. Being a Time Lord was hard, too hard for little boys. So he had to learn how to be a good Time Lord with all the other children at the Academy. And only very special little boys and girls ever got to go to the Academy to learn all about being Time Lords and Ladies.

They had to pass a special test, when they were only eight years old. All the little boys and little girls who were eight years old on the whole planet got to take the test. Not everybody passed.

But Theta's parents weren't worried. They knew just how special their little terza was. They knew he would do just fine. But only if he got some _sleep!_

* * *

><p>Everything, Theta noted, looked better in the morning. He sat with his face pressed against his favorite window in his Papa's capsule, swimming in the unaccustomed black robes of a Novice, the red light of the first dawn streaming in and warming him from the inside out. Theta was the only one in the capsule at the moment; Papa and Mama would be coming along shortly.<p>

Theta squirmed. Mama and Papa were actually going to fly the capsule themselves—a rarity indeed! Usually, they had servants to do that sort of thing.

'Time Lords,' Theta's father had always said, 'must wear many hats.' Funny hats, Theta had thought at first, though Papa said that he'd understand when he was older. And he did understand a bit better now. With each different hat, there was a whole different name, a whole different person. For example, when Papa wasn't being 'Papa' to Theta, he was being 'Kastianar' to Theta's mother. And when Papa was being Lord High Councilor Lorban, he was a _very_ important Time Lord in the government.

Lord High Councilor Lorban was the Councilor for System Governance and Orbits. He was in charge of overseeing the permissions granted to travelers through Gallifrey's space range, and for the Transduction Barrier. Theta didn't know what 'System Governance and Orbits' meant exactly, or what a 'Transduction Barrier' was, just that his Papa was in charge of them when he was wearing one of his other names—and one of his other hats. Lord High Councilor Lorban always wore a crest of station, a huge circle-y thing behind his head that made him look, in Theta's opinion, a lot like a reos he had once seen in a zoo.

Because Lord High Councilor Lorban was so important, he had lots and lots of Time Lords and Ladies working for him, even when he wasn't wearing his 'Lord High Councilor Lorban' hat. Theta often thought that they had too many servants; it was rare for him to spend any significant amount of time with either of his parents, much less both of them together. It didn't help that his Mama was distantly descended from Omega himself, so they lived in one of the only houses on the entire planet that was just as large on the outside as it was on the inside. Since their house wasn't dimensionally transcendental, they couldn't create pocket dimensions inside it for menial labor; it all had to be done by machine, and all of those had to be monitored by _someone_. And since Papa had such a very important hat to wear, and Mama had her own hats—'Eta' to Theta's father, and 'Milady Archivist Xulo' for her work in the Matrix—most of Theta's time was spent with the servants as well.

But today was very different. Today was the single most important day of Theta's life so far, and today, Theta had both his parents all to himself. After all, today was the day of Theta's Initiation.

Theta wiggled in his chair again, and pressed his forehead tighter against the window. He loved this time of day; the first sun, Freya, was all the way up and Galei, the second one, wouldn't start waking up for another half an hour almost. Freya painted everything red—the grass glowed, and the leaves on the trees reflected the light to match. Even the white and silver insides of their capsule looked red where the light came in through the window. Theta had been up before Galei several times before, but he didn't think he'd ever seen a morning quite like this one. Everything shined; the grass, the trees, the flowers, the mountains, way off in the distance.

Theta's sensitive ears caught the whoosh of the capsule's front door opening. He flipped around in his seat and beamed at his parents, bouncing up and down.

"Hello there, Theta, dear," greeted Mama as she entered the capsule. "Are you ready for today?"

"Yes, Mama!" Theta chirped.

"Good," Mama smiled. Mama looked so pretty, like always. Her curly brown hair, which usually fluffed up around her face, poked out like a second collar from under the tight fitting hat that all adults wore in public. Today, for the special occasion, both Theta's parents were dressed up fancy. Mama wore her nicest dress, all purple and gold and sparkly, with a really tall collar. Papa, too, looked even more impressive than normal, in his red and orange and silver robes. From under Papa's hat, none of his short black hair could be seen; it made him look bald. That funny circle-y thing behind his head that showed he was a High Councilor made up for it, though.

"Well," said Papa, pushing the button that activated the capsule to spatial-only dematerialization mode. "We'd better get going. The Citadel is nine hours ahead of us, here, and Initiation exercises start there in an hour. We're all ready to go?"

"Of course we are, Kastianar," said Mama, walking over to the console in the center of the room. "Theta, close your eyes."

Theta did as he was told. Watching out the windows, while perfectly safe and enjoyable even during linear spatiotemporal flight, could be bad for your eyes if you looked while a capsule was dematerializing.

"Demat in three," said Papa. Theta grinned. This was his favorite part! "Three, two, one, and _go!_"

There was that sound, that _wonderful_ sound that Theta would never know how to describe. Theta didn't think he'd ever get tired of hearing that sound, not even if he lived a hundred thousand years—not unheard-of for some Time Lords. Eyes still shut tight, the sound of his parents' dematerializing capsule filling his ears, Theta could have leapt for joy.

The trip to the capitol did not take long. In just under two minutes, to judge by Theta's still-developing time senses, Papa pulled the lever to rematerialize their capsule within the Citadel. The rotor in the center column came to rest, and the capsule was quiet.

Nobody moved. Theta hadn't even opened his eyes. He could hear Mama and Papa's robes rustling a bit on the floor, but neither of them were moving either. All three of them seemed to be waiting for something, though Theta couldn't have said what.

It was Papa who broke the silence. "We're here," he said, unnecessarily. "It's time."

Theta slipped from his seat, keeping his gaze on his parents, away from the windows, and moved slowly toward the door. Mama stepped lightly down from the console to stand beside him. She looked down at Theta, her green eyes glinting with that sly, wise look that she used on Papa so often.

"Are you excited, terza?" she murmured, a slight smile softening her face. Theta swallowed, but nodded. Mama's smile widened, and she ruffled Theta's hair. "You look so handsome. My little Theta, all grown up."

Papa appeared on Theta's other side, and laid a hand on the doors. Theta turned his face upward toward his parents.

"Let's go," said Papa. He pushed open the doors, and the family stepped out into the Citadel.

"Wow," Theta couldn't help but whisper.

Theta had never been to the Citadel that he could remember. Seeing it now, for the first time, he stood in awe. Thick, red and gold cloth hung from the walls, brushing against a silvery floor, which reflected the high, vaulted ceiling above. The orange light of Freya and Galei streamed in from huge windows on all sides, through which could be seen the rest of the city, the glass dome encasing it, and the snow topped mountains beyond.

And there, rising highest of all, the summit of Mount Serenity, in whose shadow lay the twin Valleys of Solace and Solitude, for which the mountain range was named. Theta stepped unconsciously closer to the window, his eyes tracing those sharply angled slopes with equal longing and trepidation. To the left, nestled deep in the Valley of Solace, lay The Academy, Theta's aim. To the right, in the Valley of Solitude, stood the Untempered Schism, his obstacle.

"Theta," came Mama's voice. "Come on. We're going this way."

Theta dragged his gaze away from the mountains with difficulty, and followed his parents into the bowels of the Citadel.

* * *

><p>It was some hours later when he finally had a bit of time to himself again. From the moment he'd reached the Panopticon, where he and the other Novices began their journey, his day had been one huge whirlwind of sensations—sights, sounds, feelings.<p>

And so much _noise!_ Theta, living out in the country as he had, had never seen so much as one other child of his own age prior to that morning. To be suddenly confronted with nearly five hundred, from all over the planet, all in the same, marbled hall, tensions running high… he hadn't quite known what to do with himself. His usual answer of hiding behind his parents couldn't have helped him; parents weren't allowed along for Initiation. Instead, he resorted to sitting, passive, and watching them all go by. A sea of children, of all shapes and sizes and colors, all in the black and white robes of Novices, and most of them tripping over their hems. At least Theta was tall enough to escape that indignity.

He remembered, with a bit of shame, how nervous he'd been that morning, how terrified he'd been only the night before. But he felt so much older now, so far removed from that scared little boy who'd begged his Mama and Papa for a bedtime story, who'd sat alone and silent in his own world as the other children spun themselves up into a frenzy.

Theta stifled a yawn behind his teeth. He couldn't remember ever having been so tired. He'd been up now for twenty hours straight, and was looking at another ten at least before he could go home. Thank Rassilon for the two week break before starting Academy preparation.

Assuming he passed the test.

It was an odd feeling, this, he decided. He finally had some quiet time after a full day of speeches, explanations, tours of the Citadel, the Academy; finally had time to think. And when did it come? Within an hour of his confrontation with destiny.

Theta sat with a group of forty nine other—extremely noisy—children in the passenger compartment of an official Academy capsule. As soon as their Initiation Guides arrived, they would depart the Academy, where they'd spent the hours of the evening and night, and head for the Valley of Solitude, for the Untempered Schism. From there, depending on their experiences with the Schism, they would be divided into three groups: those admitted entry to the Academy itself, those relegated to one of the lesser academies spread across the planet, and those unfit to become Time Lords and Ladies. To be accepted to the Academy was a great honor, afforded only to those who truly showed their worth at the Schism. To be deemed unfit was exceedingly rare, and an extreme dishonor.

Theta needed to be in that first group. Only Time Lords who came out of the Academy ever made names for themselves on Gallifrey—the graduates of the lesser academies ended up as lab assistants, or servants to Time Lords like Theta's father. And to be deemed unfit was… beyond unthinkable.

Theta looked out over the scattered heads of his forty-nine companions on this road to the trial by fire. He sat sandwiched between two other boys, neither of whom could be bothered to be particularly quiet. Theta briefly wondered if either of them would make it. He wished for a window to look out of.

When they got to the Valley of Solitude, they were led _en masse_ out of the capsule and onto the desolate, windswept meadow. The Valley of Solitude, ringed by tall, black foreboding mountains, was empty of all life save the stubby red grass that grew in scattered clumps in the poor, greyish soil. In the center, at the top of a small rise in the earth, stood the Untempered Schism, a towering metal ring anchoring the gap in the fabric of reality. From where they had landed, a pathway flanked by flaming braziers led up the hillock to the Schism itself.

Along this pathway, they were instructed to form a line, single file. Theta managed to squeeze in near to the head of the line. There were only two other boys in front of him: a tall, wiry-looking brunet in the very front, and in between them, a short, round boy with bone straight black hair.

Talking, they were told, was strictly prohibited. None of the Novices needed to be told this. The same group that, in the capsule, had so tormented Theta with their incessant chatter now stood stock still and as silent as the grave. Theta understood completely. There was something not quite right in this Valley, a tug on his mind and his time senses. The pull of the Schism affected them all.

The Initiation Guides moved off toward the Schism, leaving the children alone. A cold wind swept across the desolate meadow, and the brazier nearest Theta guttered in its wake. Theta shivered.

Suddenly out of the darkness, the booming voices of the Guides spoke as one.

"Renolda, daughter of Orgehai and Shytone, approach and be found worthy."

Everyone in the line looked round. A thin, trembling, pale haired girl detatched herself from center of the line and made her way forward. Her dark robes brushed on the grass as she climbed the small hillock to where the Schism stood. She disappeared into the darkness, framed by flickering torchlight.

The entire line of Novices held their collective breath. Nothing… but then—!

A sound, quiet and gentle, split the air as Renolda began to sing. Theta and his companions breathed a sigh of relief. One down, Theta thought. There was no way she would be deemed unfit with a reaction as positive as that.

And so it went on.

_Demiit, son of Sama and Bainen; Xnez, daughter of Kaara and Gleibhurzt; Felle, daughter of Venoc and Morhan._

Sometimes, there was silence as a Novice saw eternity, and the remaining few had not hint as to their reaction.

_Wealthe, daughter of Yla and Laedin; Hicsdaef, son of Bolgal and Cordaen; Drax, son of Forvad and Poegk._

Other times, the reaction was strong and clear—a sigh or a shout of happiness.

_Ribun, son of Oslat and Htrat; Faon, daughter of Moq and Lyrra; Neiwa, daughter of Rreth and Kelmorn._

The line thinned.

"Jheso, son of Niniit and Ertodt, approach and be found worthy." The tall brunet boy at the front of the line ducked his head and moved off into the night.

Theta was rapidly becoming less nervous about the whole thing. So far, it seemed fairly evident that everyone who had gone, a fifth of their number, had been at least accepted to a lesser academy, if not the Academy itself. Not much seemed to be going wrong. For the first time since arriving in the windswept reddish meadow, Theta let himself feel a little hope. And then—

A raw, bloody scream rent the air, as the wind suddenly howled through the Valley. Theta jerked in shock, his gaze snapping up from the grass beneath his feet to stare searchingly into the semi darkness where the braziers lighting the Schism had been all but smothered by the wind. A frantic scrabbling sound reached his ears. Straining his eyes, Theta could just make out the distant, dark, flailing shape of Jheso fleeing as though the very plague of the Death Zone was at his heels.

_**SLAM!**_Jheso collided with the boy who stood in front of Theta, and the three of them went down hard, toppling like dominos. A few of the other Novices screamed; Theta was pinned tight to the grass, all the wind knocked out of him. Jheso, in his panic, jumped up again and trampled over Theta and the other boy, who now lay directly across Theta's chest. Theta gasped for air, his respiratory bypass struggling for oxygen through the thick robes and the grass and the boy sandwiching him down.

All at once, the boy rolled off him. Theta gulped in huge mouthfuls of air, still lying prone on the grass where he had fallen. Beside him, the boy stared at him with wide greenish eyes, that straight hair all disheveled, looking just as terrified as Theta felt. Theta wasn't sure which scared him more: that breathless feeling that still lingered in his chest, or the memory of Jheso's horrified scream. What could he possibly have seen to have caused such a reaction as that?

"By Rassilon!" exclaimed a voice. A small girl came up beside them and crouched down to their level. She was probably a full head shorter than Theta, with hair the color of new grass and eyes that almost matched, in the flickering half-light of the remaining torches. "That clumsy oaf! He'd better be deemed unfit for sure! He nearly could have killed you! Are you two alright?"

Theta, for his part, just shook his head silently, still wheezing. The other boy looked at him worriedly, and then up at the girl.

"I'm alright," he said shakily, a Northern accent highlighting his consonants. "Just sore. He's looking really bad, though."

"No, no," coughed Theta weakly, sitting up. "I'm fine. Just need to breathe a bit."

"Well," the girl said slowly, tossing her hair out of her face. "I'm still going to go get a Guide. You two sit tight." The girl stood, and started to move toward the Schism.

"Oh wait! What're your names?" she called, turning back.

"Theta," said Theta.

"Koschei," said the other boy.

"Koschei and… Theta, was it?" the girl clarified. Theta nodded. The girl nodded back. "Right. I'm Rosal, by the way. I'll be back."

She scampered up the hill. Koschei looked over at Theta again.

"Sorry for falling on you, mate," Koschei said. "Here, you've got some grass in your hair."

After Jheso's dramatic interruption of the proceedings, things took on a much more informal air. The remaining Novices muttered now among themselves. Two of the Guides went and tracked down Jheso and brought him back to the capsule; another two sat with Theta and Koschei on the side of the hillock. The rest re-lit the braziers surrounding the Schism. There had been some talk of sending to the Citadel for a physician, but Koschei was determined to face the Schism with the rest of his group, and Theta felt the same way. The pair were, however, told to sit through the remainder of the ceremony until their turns. Rosal, for her part, was commended for her quick action, and sent on to the Schism.

Both Theta and Koschei watched Rosal's encounter with the Schism with interest. From their new vantage point, they could not see the Schism itself, but they could see whoever stood before it. Rosal took her place, gazed upon the raw fabric of space and time for the barest breadth of a moment, and smiled the most perfectly contented smile any of her small audience had ever seen.

Theta and Koschei exchanged grins.

"She's in the Academy for sure," mouthed Koschei.

"Oh, yes," replied Theta, just as silently. "No doubt about that."

Time passed—Theta's young time-senses could feel it, ticking away. Thirty-four eight-year-olds stepped up to the Schism. Theta and Koschei kept up a silent running commentary on their Initiation mates as they went by. Six they figured were shoo-ins for the Academy. They reckoned another two who'd be deemed unfit, but otherwise, the night passed calmly.

The voices of the Guides boomed out as one. "Koschei, son of Zartize and Enikof, approach and be found worthy."

Theta and Koschei locked eyes. One of the two Guides seated with them on the side of the hill, a white haired, regal looking Time Lord, got to his feet, and held out a hand to Koschei. Theta's new friend swallowed audibly, and stood. Koschei and their Guide walked slowly up the side of the hill, and Koschei squared his shoulders toward the Schism.

Theta held his breath. In less than a second, Koschei's eyebrows, thick black lines on a pale forehead, furrowed ever so slightly, and his eyes grew to great round circles. Koschei, up the hill, froze completely. Theta, kneeling in the grass, did too.

Koschei didn't move again until the Guide who'd led him up touched him gently on the arm. Then he blinked, just once, and turned away from Theta to follow the Guide down the other side of the hill, back to the capsule. He didn't look back.

Theta shivered and crossed his arms over his knees. Only three more Novices remained, himself among them. Not long now.

Indeed, not long at all. "Theta Sigma, son of Xulo and Lorban, approach and be found worthy."

Theta's head shot up. The sole remaining Guide beside him, this one a pretty dark skinned Time Lady, reached out to grab his hand and pulled him playfully up off the grass. "Come on, then, Theta," she said with a wink, and strode up the hill. Theta scrambled to keep up, and—there it was.

* * *

><p>Theta Sigma stood there, eight years old, staring at the <strong>raw power<strong> of time and space.

The whole of the Vortex stared back.

_Would you like a jelly baby?_

There was fire, and ice, and rage, burning at the center of Time, a fierce **storm** gathering in the depths of the Vortex.

_Reverse the polarity of the neutron flow!_

In the night, the **hearts** of a thousand suns exploded before and behind his eyes.

_Oh, my giddy aunt!_

For a split second, he saw the **turn** of the universe, and it left him lightheaded and dizzy with relief and petrified.

_Brave heart, Tegan._

See it** all!**

_Fantastic!_

The possibilities, **ancient and forever**, endless, enticing, and electrifying, twisted forward, out from him, spinning their myriad complexities, with their shattered rainbows of color and sound and light, people and places and all of space and time.

_Come on, Ace. We've got work to do._

He was a **wanderer** in the Fourth dimension, falling through space, clinging to the skin of this tiny world, and if he let go—!

_Change, my dear. And it seems not a moment too soon!_

And always the chant, underscoring everything, **run**.

_One day, I shall come back._

Run so far and burn so bright, and dance in the dust and the **blood** of a million billion worlds.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

Grow, learn, **love**, laugh, cry, run, hide, heal, mend, search, fix, help, lose, **burn**, die, live, gain, see, move!

_Basically, run!_

**Make people better!**

_I know who I am! I am THE DOCTOR!_

He laughed.

* * *

><p>Reviews cause me intense joy. Intense joy causes me inspiration. Inspiration causes me to write. Writing causes me to give you more chappies. More chappies cause more reviews. See how this works?<p>

Good things come to those who wait,

~Jaded


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